


deceit (how to get away with lying)

by mondaynight



Category: Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:48:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25434142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mondaynight/pseuds/mondaynight
Summary: After Hope takes a dive into Josie's subconscious to free the black magic corrupting her, she falls into a deep slumber. A witch offers to wake the tribrid but it comes with a price: the witch will curse Hope, making it impossible for her to lie to her true love.In simpler terms,the soulmate AU where it's impossible to lie to your soulmate.
Relationships: Hope Mikaelson/Josie Saltzman
Comments: 13
Kudos: 226





	deceit (how to get away with lying)

A week passes and neither Hope nor Landon wake up. The pair remain sound asleep, dead but not dead, breathing with no breath. 

  
  


There comes a certain point where Alaric Saltzman panics. It’s not anything one can observe on the outside, nor anything a student of his could truly understand. Not really.

  
  


His years of fighting supernaturals have taught him well-enough how quickly one needs to act in the face of impending doom, but the headmaster of the Salvatore Boarding School is at a complete and utter loss. 

  
  


Alaric has spent the last week contacting all of his old friends with any amount of experience at all and searching through grimoires with the help of his two daughters. With no results. Alaric is now more than desperate, looking for any way to wake Hope and the curly-haired boy.

  
  


He’s met with several people, all of whom have been of little to no help. His last option is a powerful witch who resides in the south of Missouri, and is of a secret coven quite knowledgeable of the unconscious mind yet is known not to be trusted. 

  
  


“Dad, we have to do this,” Josie tells him one late evening, having been trying to persuade him for two days now. She sighs after putting down one of the grimoires. Her voice is flooded with guilt, “There’s no other choice. We have to save her—them.”

  
  


Josie stammers around the slip-up, but her father doesn’t appear to catch it, only knitting his eyebrows together and resuming his attention to the book in his lap. Alaric _knows_ it’s their only choice, but he can’t bring himself to make it. The regret from allowing the Necromancer to take Josie’s black magic still lingers.

  
  


He knows whatever deal he’ll make with the witch won’t be a good one. In Lizzie’s words exactly: It’s a deal with the devil.

  
  


The aforementioned devil is far more powerful than any of the other witches Alaric Saltzman has ever encountered in his lifetime and he doesn’t know what exactly will happen. Every spell comes with a consequence. Every fix comes with a price.

  
  


He’s talked to the witch once, only after a long, desperate night of not finding any answers. The man was hopeless and fell to his last resort. It’s been days since they’ve talked, but he can still remember it oh-so clearly.

  
  


He remembers the wicked sound of her voice, the way she laughed at his questions, the way she gave no absolute answers—like she was playing with him. However, the witch had still given him more than anyone else had put together.

  
  


“I know, Josie,” he answers, finally looking up to meet his daughter’s eyes. The siphoner looks deflated, and Alaric notices his other daughter lying down with her eyes closed on the couch. It’s late. Very, very late. “But we need to find something else. This can’t be it.”

  
  


“There’s nothing else,” Josie huffs, building up with anger in front of her father’s eyes. The brown-eyed girl exhales shakily before continuing, “Whatever she does to the two of them, it’s worth it. Just to have them back.”

  
  


“Sweetie, you don’t know that,” he whispers, running his hands through his light beard. He scratches at it, heavy in thought. “You heard her yourself. Her help comes with a price, and if she’s anything like her coven, she can’t be trusted.”

  
  


Lizzie gets up from the couch, and Alaric starts to doubt she was ever asleep in the first place when she murmurs, “How do we even know she can do this? Like, wake them up?” The blonde scratches at her eyes, a tired yawn falling from her lips.

  
  


“—Maybe she’s faking. You know...witches and their exaggeration. Endless.”

  
  


“Lizzie,” Josie pouts, rubbing her hand at her forehead. She’s terribly irritated, “Stop joking about this.”

  
  


“I’m not. Don’t you guys find it weird how this witch _wants_ to do this for us?” Lizzie folds her arms in front of her chest, leaning against one of the bookshelves in the library. “And how do you guys know she’s _so_ terrible? The way you talk about her, it’s like she’s friends with Alyssa Chang.”

  
  


“Hope’s aunt talked to us about her. Apparently, Freya knows her enough to understand that she’s dangerous,” Alaric explains, and he’s sure he’s filled his daughters in on this before. But he also acknowledges that Lizzie doesn’t pay attention to what he says most of the time. “Dangerous in that, every time this witch performs a spell, she wants something in return.”

  
  


“What does she want?” Josie asks, curiosity padding her words. She hasn’t particularly heard this part of the story before and she wonders if it’s why her father is so skeptical.

  
  


“I’m not exactly sure,” he speaks up, trying to remember Freya’s exact words. “Freya was vague. She just told me that the truth gives this witch power, gives her magic.”

  
  


“—She isn’t a normal witch.”

  
  


“What is that supposed to mean?” Josie asks, more to herself, narrowing her eyes at her dad’s words. She frowns, tilting her head to the side.

  
  


“Are we supposed to be opposed to that?” Lizzie remarks at the same time, alongside her sister. “What’s the worst that can happen? She makes Thing One and Thing Two spill their darkest, dirtiest secrets?” 

  
  


“What’s so bad about that?” The blonde continues, not holding back much of anything. She shrugs her shoulders, “We already know Birdboy has a perm. And we definitely know Hope is still a virgin.”

  
  


“Lizzie, enough!” Alaric reprimands the blonde, stopping her when she tries to go on with her rant. He shakes his head at her, “There’s a possibility that your friends are _gone_. We don’t know anything.”

  
  


He scoffs, incredulity burdensome in his words. He reiterates his last sentence again, unable to believe just how baffled they are, “Wow, we don’t know _anything_.”

  
  


Lizzie settles down—stopping her childish behavior—at the agony in her father's words. She tries to soothe him, tries to make him feel better—tries to make them _all_ feel better. “They’ll be fine. We should continue this in the morning. It’s no use right now, Dad.” She looks to Josie, who nods, and makes a move to get up as well.

  
  


Josie slides the grimoire back behind the glass and then locks it with a key. She organizes some of the books on the desk while she waits for her sister to put her stuff in her bag. Alaric sits glued to his seat, incapable of getting up and going to bed. Unable to feel any better after his daughter’s reassurances.

  
  


Both of his daughters look distressed, anxiety laced all over their faces, and he wonders how they’re dealing with it— _if_ they’re dealing with it. He should be here for them, he should be better. They deserve better.

  
  


His twins kiss him goodnight and Alaric Saltzman watches as his daughters run up the stairs of the basement, waving from behind at him. He had promised them he would go to sleep as well, but as he looks at the books in front of himself, Alaric knows he can’t.

  
  


There’s work to be done, and his students need him—Hope Mikaelson needs him.

  
  


-

  
  


The next morning, when it’s Lizzie Saltzman’s turn to check on the two, her mouth falls open at the sight of Hope’s body. The blue-eyed girl’s skin is a greyish color, and there’s some type of liquid—not blood—falling from her eyelids, dripping down her face like tears.

  
  


Landon’s fine, however.

  
  


When Alaric Saltzman finally gets to the room—dragged by Lizzie—the image in front of him scares him more than anything ever before. More than becoming a vampire once and more than dying and then coming back. Dying was something he was sure of—was prepared for—but this is obscure. Confusing. Unnerving.

  
  


It’s dancing in the dark with someone who isn’t there. It’s trying to escape a room with no doors or windows. Within two seconds he dials a number on his phone, left with no other alternative.

  
  


The witch comes quick. So quick that Alaric thinks she just knew he would call, almost as if she was on her way already. It makes Alaric burn with suspicion, aflame in concern. 

  
  


She arrives by the evening, wearing black jeans and a matching top, a light cardigan hung over her shoulders. The woman looks young, but Alaric knows it’s deceiving. Freya had told him how old she was—fifty-eight.

  
  


“Show me them,” she says immediately when Alaric opens the door, pushing past him and looking inside. He stands there, almost unwilling, until his brunette daughter taps him on the shoulder.

  
  


“Of course,” he says gruffly, his voice trying to feign kindness. It isn’t that convincing, if the way his nose flares is any indication. He leads the way, the witch and then his daughters following behind him. Before he opens the door, he turns back to face her, “If you’re planning anything, this won’t work out well for you.”

  
  


He still knows that Hope Mikaelson is someone _many_ people want their hands on.

  
  


The threat is clear, but isn’t as menacing as it would be coming from someone else. Alaric Saltzman hasn’t always been good with threats, other than ones to protect his own daughters. God knows he’s been trying to appear more threatening since he was born. 

  
  


“Oh, sweetie, don’t threaten me,” the woman points at an object on the table and it levitates and then hangs in front of Alaric’s face, taunting him. She puts it down, giving him a derisive look, “You couldn’t hurt me if you tried.”

  
  


He ignores her, fully opening the door and trying to save face or any dignity he has left. He truly has no power when it comes to this. Not against witches, not against vampires, not against werewolves.

  
  


She examines the pair, side-by-side, for just a moment and then comments, “They’ve been like this for a week. Right?” Alaric nods and she adds, “Together?”

  
  


“They fell into this about the same time,” Josie speaks up but knows she doesn’t have to refer to their situation—how Hope went into her subconscious and then never came back out. She’s sure her father has already explained it to the woman. She confirms it, a sour frown on her face, “Together.”

  
  


She doesn’t want to truly acknowledge why she feels so bitter about it.

  
  


Hope’s face has been wiped down and there’s no more liquid coming off of her eyelids, but her greyish skin darkens by the hour. The witch’s eyebrow raises at how Landon seems to look fine. She briefly remembers that he’s a phoenix, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s aware of his full powers yet.

  
  


“I told you over the phone everything I know,” Alaric says, glaring at the witch when she hasn’t done anything yet. “You said you’d know what to do. What’s taking so long?”

The witch obviously was probably bluffing.

  
  


The witch ignores him, deep in thought. It’s so weird how they’re in the same desolate slumber, in the same coma-like state. Her mouth forms an o-shape, and she comes to a sudden realization.

  
  


“Is there any chance…” the witch whispers, looking between the pair. Her eyes dart back and forth before she clears her throat, “...that their lives are linked?” A curious daze falls around the room, entrapping Alaric and his daughters. 

  
  


“That wouldn’t make sense,” Lizzie straightens out from where she’s leaning against the wall. She pauses, sharing the same puzzled look as her twin sister, “Why would they be linked? Who would link them?”

  
  


“It _doesn’t_ make sense. If anything happens to Hope, she’ll just be a full tribrid,” Josie butts in, her eyes landing on Hope. She looks _so_ peaceful. If only she didn’t look like a corpse. Josie continues, “She doesn’t need to rely on Landon to save her.”

  
  


“—Not like you did, Lizzie.”

  
  


“Dear sister of mine, get over it. The merge was _weeks_ ago. You won, now stop holding it over me,” Lizzie groans, her tone upset and whiny. The witch shakes their head at them, focusing her attention back onto Hope out of the pair lying down. It’s so peculiar how her body is changing while Landon’s is stagnant as ever.

  
  


Perhaps he’s truly dead, and she’s...decaying. She has her werewolf healing abilities, but her vampire side has not yet been activated. It could very much be the reason why.

  
  


“Girls, stop it,” Alaric hushes the two, looking pointedly at them while the witch is distracted elsewhere. “Anyways, what would explain whatever was coming out of her eyes?”

  
  


Alaric had described it to her on the phone call. It was a dark-brown fluid, and at the description, the witch thought it unfamiliar.

  
  


“Well, if Landon’s dead, and they’re linked, this could very well be a manifestation of his injuries, but on Hope,” she explains, checking the auburn-haired girl up close. She looks like a corpse, her skin decayed. “Tell me, how did the boy die?”

  
  


“An arrow to the chest,” Lizzie says, remembering it from what Rafael had told her. Rafael had left nothing out, which was important. A golden arrow, precisely.

  
  


Golden arrows are supposed to kill Phoenixes. It was in the prophecy, it was in the books.

  
  


“Have you checked _her_ chest?”

  
  


“She’s been fine all week, there was no need,” Alaric states, but it sounds a lot like an excuse. His words fly uselessly in the air, and the witch sighs.

  
  


“Did you not think it possible that they could be linked?” The witch asks, exasperated and angry. These utter fools. They’ve been wasting time. “What have you been thinking this whole time?”

  
  


“No,” Alaric speaks up, starting to get upset at the demeaning tone in her voice. “She was in Josie’s subconscious. Why would Hope need to link them? It wasn’t like she could die in Josie’s subconscious.”

  
  


Alaric looks at the ground, completely puzzled. No. That wouldn’t have worked. Landon couldn’t have been able to save her if she _died_ in Josie’s subconscious. Those are two different states of existence.

  
  


No way.

  
  


Josie swallows...In some way, Hope _did_ die in Josie’s subconscious.

  
  


“She was turned to stone, Dad,” Josie starts, her head trying to piece things together. “While we were fighting my... _darker_ side...turned Hope into stone.”

  
  


“Perhaps she’s in Josie’s mind and now she can’t come back to the conscious world because of the linking spell,” the witch figures, taking out one of her old books. The cover is brown, and she dusts it off. “I believe your friend, the boy, is not awake because Hope is stuck. A linking spell works both ways.”

  
  


“That’s not right,” Josie says, but she doesn’t sound so convincing. If anything, she’s reassuring herself, “I don’t feel her in here. I don’t feel her.”

  
  


No one really hears Josie, she speaks too slowly. She speaks too silently.

  
  


“I’ll sever the linking spell,” the older witch continues, doing a further examination on the curly-haired boy. She pauses, watching Alaric Saltzman’s expression, “It might save Hope and wake Landon.”

  
  


“I’m guessing that they probably died at the same time and both can’t wake up because of the spell,” the witch adjusts her grimoire from where she’s holding it in her hand. 

  
  


She writes something on a piece of paper, and mutters something under her breath. In a second, the paper is gone. Josie thinks she’s communicating with someone else, perhaps confiding and trusting in another witch. “When I break the spell, it should free the both of them, and Hope will be able to heal and Landon should live again.”

  
  


Lizzie goes off on another tangent.

  
  


“I’m killing Hope when she wakes up, how stupid of her. Doing a spell to try to save herself when really it’s just killing the both of—”

  
  


“Lizzie!” Alaric and Josie scold at the same time, looking disappointed. 

  
  


“What?” The blonde twin blinks, fluttering her eyelashes as if innocent.

  
  


An hour later, the witch prepares the spell and collects everything to do it. This spell, in particular, will be of vigorous effort. Distinctly, for the reason that the witch doesn’t know what sources Hope had used—

  
  


If Hope had done it in the first place.

  
  


When the witch starts, Josie follows every word she says, listens to every single syllable. Some words are familiar to the young witch, but others are foreign language.

  
  


“It is done,” she says after a long time, closing her book. She looks between the pair lying down, “It might take some time but she should start to awake and he’ll most likely wake up after her.”

  
  


“But wait. He was struck with a golden arrow,” Lizzie says, now wanting to see if the prophecy amounts to truth and reality. She hopes to believe that the witch can confirm it. “Doesn’t that mean something?”

  
  


Don’t get Lizzie Saltzman wrong, she can give a rat’s ass if Landon dies, but others—Hope and Josie—care.

  
  


Josie visibly tenses at the mention of the golden arrow. It’s been in her mind all along—could Landon really be dead?

  
  


“You people and your prophecies,” she shakes her head, her accent sharpened. “Monstrous things, they are.”

  
She confirms nothing. Perhaps she _knows_ nothing.

  
  


The witch smiles—something wicked—and it lights up Alaric’s confusion and angers him. What did she do to Hope and Landon? Why does she love the _truth_ ? What does the _truth_ give her?

  
  


The witch walks towards the door, but Alaric stops her.

  
  


“Now, tell us what you did to her,” the headmaster spits out, grabbing her shoulder when she tries to leave. He immediately feels a pain in his own shoulder and he flinches, rubbing at the burn. He’s defenseless against a witch. Defenseless against any supernatural.

  
  


“Wow, not even a thank you?” She pouts, struck with feigned astonishment. Her head shakes again, once more, but this time it spells out annoyance. As if she can care less, as if she’s only in it for one reason.

  
  


Which she is.

  
  


“Anyways…” she trails off, tapping her foot lightly against the floor. The sound resounds throughout the room like a clock, building up the anxiety of the whole Saltzman family.

  
  


Tick.

  
  


Tock.

  
  


Tick.

  
  


Tock.

  
  


“—You’ll learn with time.”


End file.
